


Lesbian Lyanna's Southron Sojourn (Also known as, the five times Lyanna imagined Cersei naked, and the one time she didn’t have to)

by crossingwinter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, HAHAHAHHAHHHHAHAHHAHAH, I know what you like Jenn, Plot What Plot, and with a dash of Cersei/Jaime in there for good measure, breaking out that devil's typewriter, in which Lyanna is a lesbian, sweater porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-01 22:21:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossingwinter/pseuds/crossingwinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is Jenn’s Birthday Present.  None of you need to read it.  Want something of quality by me that features a Lannister/Lyanna pairing? Go <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/976315">Read Seventh Inning Stretch</a> or something.  No?  I did warn you…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lesbian Lyanna's Southron Sojourn (Also known as, the five times Lyanna imagined Cersei naked, and the one time she didn’t have to)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theelusiveflamingo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theelusiveflamingo/gifts).



> I swore I would never use this meme—and then it came to me. Oh well. I have no regrets with this fic. If I look back, I’m lost.

 

 

I.

 

They are sitting at a table outside a coffee shop the first time.  Lyanna has been in Lannisport five days, and already the smell of salt air has sunk deep down into her sweaters and skirts.  She loves it—salt is so different from pine—and Lannisport and Southron college friends are such a refreshing diversion from Northern stillness. 

Jaime is casually smoking a cigarette out of the corner of his mouth while he talks animatedly into his phone to his younger brother, who, it seems ended up at a frat party the night before and woke up with a lot of dicks drawn in permanent marker on his face.  From what Lyanna can hear coming out of the phone, Tyrion is trying desperately to remove them before their father gets home.

“Look,” Jaime was saying, “Water just won’t work.  You know this, Tyrion.”

Tyrion replies—loudly and with lots of interjected “fucks”

“Has he tried nail-polish remover?  It’s basic chemistry,” Lyanna asks, leaning back in her chair. 

“He is _not_ going into my bathroom while I’m not there,” Cersei says loudly.

Jaime, green eyes locked on his twin, says “Cersei says to go and use her nail polish remover.  Basic chemistry.”

“Oh fuck you!” Cersei swipes at Jaime across the table, reaching for his phone.  She knocks over her open water bottle, and with a distinctive _glug_ , it empties all over her white blouse.

Lyanna sees a green and white floral bra even as Cersei recoils, letting out a yelp.  Cersei’s breasts have always been captivating to Lyanna, large and round where Lyanna’s are so small she feels she has the chest of a little boy.  And for the brief moment before Cersei tugs the shirt away from them, releasing them from its sopping grip, Lyanna’s heart catches in her throat, and she wonders what color Cersei’s nipples are.

 

II.

 

The Lannisters are the type of family to kiss on the mouth.  Or rather, Cersei is the type to kiss on the mouth.  She’ll kiss her father goodbye by pressing her lips lightly to his and she pecks Tyrion on the lips whenever he is home from King’s Landing University.  It’s Jaime she kisses the most frequently though.  She kisses him hello and goodbye, and often a little longer than she kisses her father or youngest brother.

At first, Lyanna felt uncomfortable with it.  It’s strange that that’s ok, she thinks.  She can’t imagine kissing Brandon or Ned on the mouth, even if it’s a non-romantic kiss.  But she’s gotten used to it, in the end.  It’s not like she’s had a choice.  Cersei was never going to stop, and, given that she spent most of her days with Cersei and Jaime, she was confronted with it constantly.  With Jaime, these kisses always feel more intimate than they should.  Sometimes, half-jokingly, Jaime will squeeze Cersei’s ass as he kisses her.  When they’re at bars, and people can’t quite tell if they’re related or not, he might even put his tongue in her mouth, which Cersei responds to quite positively.

It’s during one such kiss, while they’re out at a night club, and Cersei and Jaime are both pink-faced with alcohol, that Lyanna realizes that, if she weren’t there, they might take it back to the car and finish up.  She imagines Cersei, pale and golden, those great orbs of her chest bouncing as she writhes on Jaime’s cock.

And Lyanna wants to join in.

 

III.

 

It doesn’t help that, while staying with Cersei, she often sees her coming out of the shower, droplets of water dripping down smooth skin, her honey-colored curls sticking to her neck and back.  Often times, Cersei will stand there in only a towel, leaning against the door of the guest room asking what Lyanna wants to do that day.  Sometimes, she’ll adjust her towel and Lyanna will catch a glimpse of the paler skin of her side.  Other times, she’ll reach down and use the towel to dry herself, pressing her hands so obviously between her legs, letting the terrycloth soak up every last drop of moisture.

Until that moment, Lyanna had been very good at only imagining Cersei’s breasts (dusty rose nipples, she’d decided, a color to compliment the green and white bra).  But now, Lyanna can practically see the golden down between Cersei’s legs, soft, thin, unlike the coarse black mop between Lyanna’s own, which was increasingly wet at the thought of Cersei.

 

IV.

 

At the beach on a Saturday, Lyanna _almost_ sees her.  Tyrion hasn’t gone back to school yet, and the four of them go down to the Sunset Sea in the late afternoon, when everyone is heading home.

Cersei is wearing a red string bikini, her nipples hardening through synthetic fabric in the strong breeze.  Her breasts are so majestic.  Cersei has said more than once that she’s jealous of Lyanna’s small chest—that Lyanna doesn’t have to worry about wearing a bra most of the time, that she doesn’t get pervs on the subway staring at her tits, a statement that always makes Lyanna blush, because then she feels like one of those perverts.  Especially when Lyanna notices things like how she can’t see any signs of down poking from the lower half of Cersei’s bathing suit. Lyanna wonders if Cersei is fully waxed, and knows that she’ll need to go into the water soon or else she’ll soak through her own black swimsuit in a very obvious way.

They all dive into the ocean, the waves cresting high and fast.  Tyrion bobs above them, Jaime flips over them, Lyanna twirls and let the water carry her high above the sand, and Cersei dives through them.  Lyanna loves the cooling sensation of the water in the sunset, the salt drying on her lips, the way her eyes and mouth stings when she isn’t careful and lets the waves assault her face.  It is enough to distract her from Cersei.  For a time.

She hears a shriek, and Jaime’s laughter.  He swims towards Cersei, whose head was the only thing visible above the water, the two pieces of her swimsuit in his hand.  She grabs them and turns her back to him while she ties them back together, only the tops of those magnificent breasts visible over the line of the water.  She smiles crookedly at Lyanna as she does so, and elbows Jaime for good measure. 

Lyanna closes her eyes, and lets a wave knock her under.  By the time she resurfaces, Cersei is getting out of the water, her bikini bottom sucking in to the crevice down the middle of her rear.

 

V.

 

The thing is, for all the lusty thoughts—and there were more of them every day—Lyanna is simply stunned by Cersei’s beauty.

Cersei, who is of average height, and who looks slender, despite not being “thin” the way Lyanna is, whose hips and shoulders are perfectly proportioned, whose breasts are the very image of an artist’s portrait, rounded, soft, but not the déclassé porn-y round that Lyanna so often found on the internet.  Her hair, hanging in soft, loose curls, or wound tight into a chignon at the back of her head either made her face look soft, or striking—but both beautiful in their own way, her nose straight, her eyes emerald, her lips so deep a pink that she never needed to wear lipstick.  She is wearing lipstick tonight, though, red to match her gown, a strapless, full-length thing that allowed Lyanna to admire the shadows of her collarbones, the space between her arms and her sides, the way each vertebra stacked neatly and healthily.

“Are you ready?” Cersei asks her.  “You should wear silver more often.  It brings out the color of your eyes.”  Those green eyes look her up and down twice, and Lyanna feels herself blush.

Lyanna nods.  “You look beautiful.”  Cersei smiles.

“Thanks, love.”  _Love_.  If only Cersei truly loved Lyanna.  Even if it was the sort of way she loved Jaime, with playful kisses that sometimes escalated into playful fondlings.  What Lyanna wouldn’t give to lean over and kiss Cersei as they shrugged into their respective coats—it was getting chilly now that September had rolled around—kissing her until Cersei decided that, actually, they didn’t need to make an appearance at this fundraiser anyway, and they could just take off these lovely ball gowns and snuggle together by the fireplace in their underwear and drink hot chocolate, and see if the chocolate tasted different when coming from one another’s tongues.

 

VI.

 

It’s Lyanna’s last day in Lannisport, and she can’t for the life of her, find any of her sweaters.  She’ll need them back home, autumn in Winterfell could be brutal, and she likes those sweaters.  She’d brought ten sweaters with her for her summer—even though in the southron summers, there was really no need for them; Lyanna liked to be prepared. And besides, she loved those sweaters.  Thick woolen pullovers, cableknit cashmere, cardigans that her brothers had gotten her every year for her nameday when they’d noticed she liked sweaters.

She has looked everywhere—under her bed, in the laundry hamper, between the couch cushions, on the deck, and none of them are there.  She growls in frustration and tugs herself off the floor of the guest bedroom, where she has found herself, for the sixteenth time, checking if they somehow got hidden by the bedskirt.

“Cersei,” she calls, “Have you seen my sweaters?”

“Which one?” Cersei calls back from her room.

“All of them.  Any of them.”

“Is this grey one yours?  Grey and white patterned?  A cardigan?”

Lyanna sighs with relief.  “Yes.”

“Yeah, it’s in my room.”

She trips over her suitcase as she makes her way across the apartment.  She pushes open Cersei’s bedroom door, which is slightly ajar. 

Cersei is lying on top of nine of Lyanna’s sweaters, wearing only the tenth—the grey and white cardigan.

Lyanna knows that her eyes are too wide to be seemly.  Cersei’s legs are slightly open, and she can see the deep pink flesh of her cunt, unprotected by the golden down that Lyanna had imagined, and which Cersei had removed completely.  Cersei’s eyebrows are raised as she toys with the single fastened button of Lyanna’s cardigan that holds the wool over her breasts.  It is straining—the sweater is too small for Cersei’s breasts, and it looks like it is about to come loose.

“You’re going to stretch out my sweater,” Lyanna says at last.

“Am I?”

“Oh yes.  Best unbutton it.”

Smirking, Cersei lets the button loose and her breasts spring free, perfect and soft and large and nipples the exact shade of pink that Lyanna had pictured.

Lyanna stands still, calm on the surface, while everything chaos beneath.  Her heart is thudding in her ears, her neck, her lips, her tits, her cunt, wetness seeps through the cotton of her underwear, and Cersei is lying naked on her sweaters.

“Aren’t you a little…hot?” Cersei asks.  “It’s unbearably warm in here, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Lyanna replies slowly.  She peels off her shirt, then her sweatpants and underwear in one go, and stands there, as naked as Cersei.

Cersei’s eyes are shining with amusement, but Lyanna notices that they grow darker as her pupils dilate.  There’s the beginning of a sheen on her cunt, and Lyanna crosses to the bed, sliding between Cersei’s parted legs, resting her hands on either side of Cersei’s breasts and kissing her, gently on those soft lips.


End file.
